Phoenix
by VanDykeFan
Summary: Amy is killed in an explosion and it's up to the gang to find out who did it while Steve has to keep from falling apart.


Phoenix 

May 29th 

Amanda looked down at the gravestone sadly. AMY KATHERINE PORTER, it read. She knelt down beside it. "Hey Amy," she said tentatively. She knew that Amy couldn't hear her, but she needed to say something. "We all miss you. Jesse, Mark, me... we miss you a lot." She took a deep breath and forced back the tears that were threatening to fall. "And Steve... well, Steve misses you the most. But you already know that. He's hurting a lot. On the inside. You know how he keeps all his feelings bottled up, though." Another breath. "I went over to his house the other day and... I had never seen Steve cry before. He just... broke down." A tear fell, but she brushed it away hurriedly. "I thought you'd want to know, even though you probably can't hear me, that you've got four people down here that cared about you. Well, at least I hope you're above us." She smiled sadly. "And we still do. Care about you, that is. And say hi to Mark's wife, Katherine, for me. You can't miss her." And then, in a whisper, "Good-bye, Amy." 

May 25th 

Amy slammed the door and sat down on the steps with anger. She had plans to play basketball with Doug that night, but Steve was making her baby-sit the son of Steve's date, Eve Walsh. "It's hard for her to find a baby-sitter as a single mother and all," he had said. But what he had said last had stung her the most. "I wish I had never taken you in. It's not worth it." It was said under his breath and Amy wasn't supposed to hear it, but she did. She had stormed out of the house and sat down on the steps. She felt a foot kick her lightly in the back and then pull away. "Oops. Sorry, Amy. I didn't see you there." Dr. Mark Sloan, Steve's father, sat down beside her. "Not to mention it's dark out here," he added. When he saw the troubled expression on her face, he became concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked. Amy looked down at her shoes. "Me and Steve got into a fight," she explained softly. "What was it about?" "He's making me baby-sit for the son of his date and I already had plans. And he... he said..." She trailed off, unable to go on. "What did he say?" Mark asked, just as the door opened. Steve stood there, his face registering suppressed anger. "Let's go," he said evenly. Amy glared at him and stalked off to the car. Father and son stood in silence until the car door slammed. "Steve, try and talk to her," Mark said. "I told her-" "Steve..." The classic father warning tone was in Mark's voice. "Okay." Steve gazed at his father for a moment. "I'm going to be late." And with that, he was gone. "Thank you so much for watching Clarke," Eve said, a huge grin plastered to her face. "No problem," Amy replied, forcing a smile. "We'll see you in a few hours, Amy," Steve said, but Amy refused to look him in the eye. Knowing that he wouldn't have a good evening because of his guilt, he shut the door behind he and Eve. "Can we play cars?" Clarke asked, a hopeful, boyish grin gracing his face. At the moment, Amy felt like locking him in a closet, but then realized it wasn't his fault. It wasn't Eve's fault either, or Steve's for that matter. She realized she was the one being stubborn. "Let's play cars," Amy agreed, taking the young boy's hand. She intended to apologize to Steve the next time she saw him. At the time, she had no idea how long that would be. 

"Something wrong, Steve?" Eve asked, putting her hand on Steve's arm. "No. Not really anything I want to talk about right now." Steve looked at his date and smiled. "It's Amy, isn't it?" Steve nodded. "How did you know?" "Just the way you acted around each other. Is there a problem between the two of you?" "We got into a fight right before I came to pick you up." He looked down at his hands. "I said something I wish I could take back." "Steve, she's a teenager. She'll get over it. Tomorrow, she'll have forgotten all about it." Steve forced a smile for Eve's sake. "You're probably right," he lied. What he had said was so cruel. If there was anything he wished he could take back, it would be that. But what was done was done and he hoped that Amy would forgive him in time. 

"Oh no!" Clarke shouted, seeing the grape juice fall onto the white carpet. "Oopsies." "That's all right, Clarke. You keep playing cars and I'll clean it up. Do you know where Mom keeps the rug cleaner?" "Under the sink," Clarke answered, obviously happy because he wasn't in trouble. He returned to smashing a pair of red and blue cars together. Amy walked into the kitchen and crouched down near the cabinet under the sink. She opened it. Drain cleaner... window washing fluid... dishwashing detergent... black box with beeping red light and timer... "Huh?" she said aloud. Cautiously, she moved the various bottles out of the way and looked at the black box. She had seen way too many movies to make the mistake. It was a bomb. She read the timer quickly: 0:15. Not much time. She stood up and raced into the living room. "Clarke?" The young boy looked up at her. "Clarke, why don't we go outside and play?" "But Mommy said we couldn't go outside when it's dark out." "Well, I'm making an exception." Amy said, taking the boy's hand. They got to the back door and Amy yanked it open... 10... 9... 8... Clarke raced outside and into the backyard. "Go next door!" Amy shouted. She shut the door behind her and started to go after him, but her shirt was caught in the door. She swore, trying to pull herself loose. Clarke raced up to her and tried to help her. "No, Clarke. Go next door now!" The five-year old jumped back, startled, and tore out of the yard. 6... 5... 4... The shirt began to tear. "Yes!" Amy cheered silently. 3... 2... 1... 

BOOM! 

The loud bass beat of the song shook the entire car. "Sorry," Steve apologized, turning the radio down. "I didn't know that was going to happen." "That's all right," Eve smiled. "But as I was saying, I work as a reporter for the L.A. Times." Steve whistled. "How'd you get a break like that?" "My father is a colleague of the editor and he got me in. I did take journalism classes. Don't think I just walked in off the street. It was my major at Ithaca." "Really? I've always wanted to go to New York. Never got around to it, though." Steve noticed she was staring out the window. "Am I really that boring?" he asked, only half-joking. A fire truck sped past, sirens wailing. "No, I'm sorry, Steve. I just noticed that it was the fourth fire truck that we've passed." "I was beginning to notice that, too." Eve's expression changed to worry as Steve and the fire truck both turned onto Eve's street. "Steve, you don't think..." Eve looked up at him with wide eyes. "Amy can be trying, but she would never let a fire start," Steve assured her. Eve relaxed a bit, but still looked a little tense. They got near the house, but found it roped off with yellow police tape. The both leapt out of the car and gazed at the charred remains of the house. A pair of fire fighters were trying to put out the last of the fire and Steve could see several bomb squad members walking through the rubble. "Stay in the car," Steve demanded. He shut the door behind him. Flashing his badge, he quickly walked up to who looked like the person in charge. "What the hell happened here?" Steve asked, showing the man his badge. "Looks like a bomb went off somewhere in the middle of the house. We found a-" Eve rushed up beside them. "Where's my son?" she asked, tears welling up in the corner of her eyes. Suddenly, Clarke came racing out of the house next door. "Mommy!" he squealed, jumping in his mothers arms. Eve held her son close. "Clarke, what happened?" Eve asked, brushing a stray lock of hair from the boy's face. "I spilled juice on the rug and then Amy went to get magic cleaner to get it out and then she got scared and she told me we can go outside and then she got her shirt stuck in the door and then she said a bad word and then she told me to go to Timmy's house and then I went to Timmy's house and I heard a big boom!" Clarke tried to catch his breath as panic rose in Steve's chest. "As I was saying, Detective," the man continued. "We found a body in the backyard." "Oh God..." Steve murmured. He raced to the back of the house where paramedics were zipping up a green body bag. "Pretty sad stuff," the female paramedic said to her partner. "Real sad." Her partner nodded. "Kid couldn't have been more than thirteen." He looked up and into Steve's eyes. "You the ME?" Steve shook his head numbly. "Can I see the... the..." "The body?" the woman asked. She shook her head. "Not enough to make an ID. Not even with fingerprints. The pathologist is gonna have a hell of a time with this one." 

"Rocky road!" Jesse argued. "Vanilla swirl!" Amanda insisted. "Rocky-" "Children?" Mark interrupted. "Can we settle this after we figure out what killed Mr. Peterson here?" Jesse crossed his arms and pouted as Amanda pulled a brown file folder out from under a stack of papers, amused. "Single gunshot wound to the head. Self-inflicted. Suicide note next to the body. It's an open and shut case, Mark." "Oh, but then we don't get to have any fun," Jesse whined. "No mystery, no bad guys, no fun at all." Mark smiled at his colleague and shook his head, chuckling. "All right, Amanda. You win. It's a suicide." "And I win because rocky road is the best ice cream to exist," Jesse announced triumphantly, a boyish grin on his face. "Jesse, vanilla swirl is simply the best there is and you need to deal with that fact," Amanda said seriously. That is, until she broke out in a fit of giggles. "Hey, Dr. B. Got one for you." A lanky man, not much taller than Jesse, entered the path lab wearing a paramedic uniform. Also, he was pushing a gurney along with a body bag on it. "Shoo, boys," Amanda said, with a wave of her hand. With that, the two doctors left. "What do we have here?" she asked, as soon as she was alone with the man. "Bombing down on Raven Avenue. A little house in the suburbs, not too far from Malibu." Amanda shook her head in disgust. "Anyway, they found a body in the backyard. Little kid, too. I'm guessing mid-teens at the very oldest." "I'll have an autopsy done right away," Amanda said. "See you later, Dr. B.," the man smiled. "Nice seeing you again, Jason," Amanda replied as he left. She quickly prepped for the autopsy and unzipped the body bag. She took a step back and took a deep breath. The simple sight of such a gruesome death made her feel a little dizzy, but she was soon all right. She finished unzipping the body bag and looked down. Something shiny caught her eye. Curiously, she reached down for it. Upon closer examination, she realized it was the remains of a ring. She could barely make out an inscription: Happy Birthday, Amy. Love, Billy. "No," she said aloud. It couldn't be... 

Mark dragged himself up the stairs and into his house. Sighing, he quietly let himself in and was surprised to find his son sitting alone at the kitchen table with all the lights off. "Steve? Something wrong?" Mark asked, becoming concerned. "It's -it's..." Steve stopped, unable to go on. "Steve, you know you can tell me anything." "Amy's dead!" he blurted out. "What!?" The younger man closed his eyes and forced the tears back before continuing. "Eve and I got back from our date and the house... It was all in pieces. A bomb had gone off and Amy had been in the house and..." Steve stopped, several tears flowing from his closed eyes. Mark looked at his son in shock before returning to the real world. "Steve, son, I am so sorry. I know how much you cared about Amy." "But, Dad, this was different. I said something, not necessarily to her, but it hurt her so much and she died while being angry with me." "I'm sure she wasn't angry with you. People get into arguments all the time." "What I said had been so cruel... I- I told her that I shouldn't have taken her in because I didn't think it was worth it. But it wasn't true. It never was. I was just angry and I said it and I didn't mean it and..." Steve lowered his voice. "And now she'll never know." He looked down at his hands. "She was only thirteen." "No matter where she's at right now, I'm sure she's watching you. Amy knows you didn't mean what you said." "This is all my fault!" Steve exploded. "If I hadn't let her stay with me, she'd be safe in a foster home somewhere!" "Steve, let me share something I believe. I believe that God has a plan for us all. If Amy was supposed to die today, then she was going to die today, no matter what she was doing or where she was. You aren't to blame." "Then I'm going to find the guy who did this to her and make them pay." Steve gritted his teeth in anger. He stood up and stalked out of the room. Mark looked down at the table and felt his own tears come. Amy had been the closest Mark had ever had to a grandchild. He just hoped that where ever she was, she was happy. 

"Yes, I understand. I'll tell him," Amanda nodded and hung up the phone slowly. She leaned her head on the door frame and made the tears that stung her eyes return to their ducts. She had just learned of the death of Amy from Mark. Of the four in the tightly knit group, Jesse was the only one who didn't know yet and Amanda was elected to tell him. "Hey, Amanda. I have found the coolest ice cream shop where we can hold the con... Amanda?" Jesse entered the pathology lab, a grin on his face, but his expression quickly turned to concern. "Amanda, are you all right? Why are you crying?" Amanda drew in a ragged breath and tried to compose herself. "Amy's dead," she said, unable to hold back the waterfall of tears that were rushing out. "Amanda, come here," Jesse murmured, pulling his friend into a hug. He closed his eyes. A single tear squeezed out and rolled silently down his cheek. 

Steve sat at his kitchen table, alone. On the table lay several school papers of Amy's. With trembling hands, he picked one up. It was an Algebra paper she had doodled all over. In the corner, there was a small stick figure of Superman with a police badge hanging off its belt. Underneath, it read: Super Steve: Leaps tall fences in a few bounds! Steve smiled a little, but it just made his heart hurt even worse. He stood up and headed for the refrigerator. He was thirsty, but hadn't noticed it until now. He took two glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the counter in front of him. He filled one glass with milk and was halfway through filling the second one before he realized what he was doing. Two glasses. But only one person lived in the bottom half of the beach house now. With an angry swipe of his hand, he knocked the glasses off the counter and sent them crashing to the floor, milk forming a puddle near the wall. He sighed and put his head in his hands. 

Jesse sat at the island in the center of his kitchen, his chin resting on his folded arms. He stared into space, a thoughtful expression on his face. He missed Amy. Now who was he going to get to help him set up Steve for a practical joke or to defend him when Steve yelled at him and Amanda for investigating when they weren't supposed to? No one, he thought to himself. He hadn't realized until now how much he had taken her for granted. 

Amanda sat on the couch in her living room holding a pillow over the knees that were drawn up to her chest. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She had called Colin and asked him to take CJ for the weekend, so she wouldn't have to worry about him. After losing someone close to her, she didn't really feel like having the responsibility of watching a rambunctious three-year old. She really didn't feel like doing anything at all except be alone. 

Mark sat in the Community General doctor's lounge, his chin on his hands. He felt awful inside. The sudden and tragic death of Amy had brought back memories of his wife, Katherine, who had died after suffering from cancer for three months in the hospital. He loved both of them dearly and now missed them with the same passion. 

May 26th 

"I'm sorry, Sloan. No can do," Captain Newman declined. "I cannot put you on the Walsh bombing case." "You have to!" Steve exploded. "I need to know who did this," he said, lowering his voice. "Sloan, there is the issue of conflict of personal interest. I know Amy meant a lot to you and I'm putting my best men on the case." "Why can't I be one of them?" the detective asked evenly. "Steve, I know you're hurting, but you are in no shape to even be at work now. Go home and take a few days off." Steve was a bit taken aback by the rare use of his first name by the Captain, but was undaunted. He opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly cut off. "Go home. That's an order." "But Captain," he pleaded. "Dismissed." Still angry, Steve stalked out of the precinct. By time he got to his car, he had cooled down some, but not much. He sat in his car and saw a note sticking to the steering wheel. It read: 

Hey Sloan- How does it feel to know that you're responsible for killing ME and HER?! I was as good as dead for THREE YEARS and now I've made sure that since you've taken away something I hold dearly, that I've PERMANENTLY taken away something you hold close. Have a nice day, Sloan. - A friend. 

Enraged, Steve tore the note into tiny pieces. Realizing whatever prints that could have been recovered were now gone forever, he cursed silently and leaned his head against the steering wheel in defeat. Slowly, he let his logic take over and pushed his emotions aside for the time being. Whoever had sent the note had obviously been the same person that bombed Eve's house. Furthermore, it seemed to be someone Steve had jailed for three years. That is, in assumption that it wasn't a practical joke and the note was bogus... "No," Steve said aloud. If there was one small lead that could help find Amy's killer, then he was going to take advantage of it any way possible. He quickly started the car and drove home. 

Amanda sat down heavily in the chair at her desk. She looked at the stack of autopsy reports and letters that filled her desk. She randomly drew a letter from beneath a pile of medical supply catalogs and slit it open with a scalpel. She made a mental note to disinfect it before her next autopsy. Before sliding the paper out, she glanced at the return address: Bishop & Sons Dentistry. Her heart began to pound. Dr. Bishop was Amy's dentist. She slipped the sheet of paper out and unfolded it. 

To Whom it May Concern: 

We at Bishop & Sons Dentistry have positively identified the tooth remains as those belonging to one Amy Katherine Porter... 

The words became a blur as tears filled Amanda's eyes. The slight shred of hope that the body wasn't Amy's was ripped from her grasp. The worst thing, however, was that she had to tell everyone. Slowly, she slipped the paper back into its envelope and filed it in her filing cabinet. New tears sprung from her eyes when she saw Amy's smiling school photo looking up at her from the paper-clipped file. Just then, Jesse entered the path lab. "Hey, Amanda," he said, in a barely audible tone. Little sleep and the loss of a friend had taken its toll on the young doctor. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Amy's file," Amanda replied softly. "The tooth fragments were verified to be... well, you know. I was just filing the letter away." "God, I miss her," Jesse said lowering his eyes to the floor. Amanda looked over at her friend. "You know, I never told anyone this before, but after Amy was shot and before I told anyone she came out of the coma, we talked. For a long time. She told me she could see Steve performing CPR. The odd thing was, it was from above." "You think she had a near-death experience?" Amanda asked in surprise. Jesse nodded and continued. "Anyway, she also said that she saw Mark working on her in OR. Then she saw a light and, well, you know, from there on it's the same thing as you read about other people's. Except when the 'superior being' or angel or whatever you call it asked her if she wanted to go or stay..." "She said yes because she wanted to see her brother and mother again, but was forced back anyway like in everyone else's story," Amanda finished. "No." A pause. "She said she wanted to go back because she wanted to stay with Steve." The two looked at each other for a few moments in silence. "She really loved Steve, you know. She didn't have a father and Steve was all she had." Another pause. "And she was all Steve had, as far as having kids." A small smile crept across his face. "You know he can't find a normal, sane female to go out with, let alone procreate with. Geez, now that would be scary." "You're right." Amanda almost smiled. Almost. She then turned serious. "This has to be tearing him up inside. You know what? I'm going over to his house right now. He probably needs someone. You coming?" The young doctor smiled again. "Yeah. My shift ends in about fifteen minutes. Want me to meet you there or..." "I'll wait." 

Steve sat alone at his kitchen table and stared into his cup of coffee. The dull brown liquid reflected his pain-etched face. He had been forced into taking sick-leave, something he didn't want to do. Then, there was a knock on the door. Steve quickly looked in the mirror to make sure no obvious signs of his true feelings were showing. He stood up and answered the door. "Hello?" he asked, opening the door. There stood a young girl, about Amy's age, with a notebook in one hand. "Hi, you must be Steve," the girl said softly. Steve dug his fingernails into his palm. It was all he could do to keep from crying. "Yes. And you are..." He let the sentence hang. "Oh, sorry. I'm Alexandra Wells. Alex, actually. I am- was one of Amy's friends." Steve forced a lump down in his throat as the girl handed him the notebook. "We kept a notebook. We wrote each other notes in it and gave it to each other in between classes." She swallowed and brushed a tear away that had begun to fall. "I thought you might want it." Alex handed the notebook to him. Steve could now see that it was covered with stickers and pictures cut and torn out of magazines. "I- I can't. It'd be like reading her thoughts..." Steve declined, giving the notebook back. Alex held her hands up and shook her head. "Keep it. She'd want you to have it." Steve accepted it and brought his hands down to his sides. "And we're all gonna wear these on Monday. Everyone in the school, I mean," she added, handing him a small red bow with a pin attached to the back. "My mom's waiting in the driveway, so I'm gonna go now," she said awkwardly. With that, she dashed off to the golden mini-van parked in the Sloan driveway. Steve closed the door and tried to digest what had just taken place. He sat down at the table heavily. With shaky hands, he opened to the middle of the notebook and read. 

Alex- Hey. What's up? N/M/H. 

Steve wasn't sure what N/M/H meant but read on. 

I got a an A on that Algebra test third period. Now I'm getting a B+ average. But I never would have gotten it if Steve hadn't helped me. Now he's going to act like he didn't do anything at all like with the Science final. I remember when Mark (Steve's dad, remember?) told me something about Steve's mom, Katherine (that's my middle name!), doing that for Steve when he was my age. I guess it runs in the family though, right? The 'tough' cop had tears beginning to form in his eyes. He remembered his mom doing that, and smiled at the memory. Anyway, I saw Sean in study hall. He is HOT!!! We were talking about the dance next week and he asked me if he was going with anyone and I said no and he asked me to save a dance for him and I almost died right there!! Did you see Veronica's dress? What a little... 

Steve slammed the notebook shut and became angry with himself for reading Amy's personal thoughts. He looked at the cover, at all the pictures and words taped to it, and became so absorbed in it that he didn't hear the knock at the door. When no one answered, the visitors let themselves in. "Steve?" a soft female voice called out. "Amy?" he asked hopefully. He stood up and cursed himself for making such a stupid mistake. Amy was dead. She was never going to come back again. "Steve, it's Amanda," the voice said. Amanda and Jesse stepped into the kitchen and sat down at the table. "Hey, Steve. Um... what are you doing?" Jesse asked, eyeing the notebook on the table. "A friend of Amy's dropped this off. They were friends and they wrote notes in this spiral and I started to read it..." Steve trailed off and put his face in his hands. "Steve, it's all right to cry," Amanda assured her friend, slipping an arm around his shoulders. His entire body shook as sobs racked his body. Jesse and Amanda could feel their own hot tears roll down their cheeks. Suddenly, Steve straightened up and wiped his face. "You guys, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have..." "You have nothing to be sorry for," Amanda cut him off, wiping tears from his face as if she was his mother. "Would you like us to stay?" "Could you?" Steve asked, a smile beginning to come across his handsome face. "Anything, pal," Jesse said, a broad grin on his face. Amanda picked up a tissue and wiped the tears off his face, too, as he tried to squirm out of her reach. "Amanda, really, I can do it myself," Jesse protested. "Amanda, come on!" Inside, Steve still hurt. He was jealous of the way they seemed to have gotten over Amy's death. Just then, Mark came down the stairs, having heard noise. "Are you guys having a party down here?" Mark asked. "It's in my own house and I wasn't even invited." He crossed his arms and grinned at the occupants of the room. "No party here," Jesse said. "But we can have one arranged!" he continued, boyish grin on his face. Steve resumed his staring contest with the coffee. "Tomorrow is her funeral, you know," Steve remarked quietly. He looked up. "Are you all coming?" "I've got Taylor to cover for me and Mark and Amanda have the day off," Jesse said, nodding. "Thanks, you guys. You know, for being there." Steve forced a smile. "Always," Mark smiled back. 

May 28th 

"...and may she always rest in peace," the priest concluded, closing the Bible. He made a quick sign of the cross and sought shelter. The rain that had begun early in the day had been getting harder and harder with each passing moment. As Mark, Jesse and Amanda headed for their cars, Steve stood rooted to the spot, looking down at the ground. He thought that maybe if he looked at the tombstone long enough, the name would change. Anything but Amy Katherine Porter. "Steve?" Mark placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "In a minute, Dad," Steve replied, not breaking his gaze. Mark nodded behind him and the trio of doctors left the cemetery. Steve stood at that spot for a long time. It could have been minutes, hours, days, he wouldn't have known the difference. The raindrops fell harder, faster and there were more of them. Steve remembered one of the first few days he had spent with Amy. The two of them had gone outside in a rainstorm and splashed in the puddles until they were both soaked clear through their clothing. Steve remembered the pain and worry that had gone through his head when Amy was shot. Steve had been assigned to protect her in the case of a gang murder, but it was strangely intertwined with her brother's murder. On the way to the trial, Amy noticed that a car had been following them. Steve turned into an alley, where he got out of the car, gun aimed. The whole memory flashed back to him: 

Amy glanced behind her and back into the rearview mirror. Then, she adjusted it and turned around again. "Will you stop it?" Steve shooed Amy's hand away. "What are you doing?" "Huh? Oh. That truck has been following us since we pulled out of the driveway." Amy turned around in her seat again. She and Steve were on their way to the courthouse. "What?!" Steve fixed the rearview mirror and saw that sure enough, Amy was right. "You're right." Steve turned the car into an alley. The car followed. "Of course I am," Amy smiled smugly. Steve jerked the car to a stop and felt for his gun. His .9mm Beretta semi-automatic was where it always was. Pulling it out of its holster, he opened the car door. "Stay put," Steve commanded and got out of the car. Only, he forgot to shut the door behind him. The car behind them stopped and the driver side and passenger side doors opened. Two men stepped out, with guns similar to Steve's. "Give us the girl," one of them growled. "Why do you need her?" Steve asked, finger tightening on the trigger. He wanted to keep them talking as long as he could. Steve felt a presence behind him and Amy was there. Amy walked slowly in front of Steve and toward the men. "Amy, get back here!" Steve shouted, grabbing for her arm. He missed. "Get back in the car, Steve." Amy's voice was surprisingly calm for the situation. Knowing Steve hadn't honored her request, she turned to face him. "Steve, get in the car. They'll shoot you. It's me they want. Steve-" Amy stopped at the same instant that several gunshots sounded. A blank look clouded her face and she brought her hand to her left side. When she pulled it away, there was blood on it. All at once, her entire body went limp and she fell onto the hard asphalt. Steve looked over at the two men. They had both put their guns away and were already halfway in the car. He fired three shots at the car. The side mirror shattered along with the windshield, but that seemed to be all the damage done. Steve knelt down by Amy's side and checked for a pulse. He was glad to find one, however weak. He placed his ear close to her mouth and checked for breathing. It was shallow, but there as well. He whipped the cell phone out of his pocket and called in an ambulance. "I need an ambulance to 156th and Walsh. I have a gun shot wound victim down. Pulmonary and respiratory signs are detected, but I don't know how long they'll last." Steve quickly hung up the phone, ignoring the operator's instructions to stay on the line. "Come on, Amy," he murmured, shrugging off his jacket. He wrapped it around his hand and pressed it against the wound. "Don't you even think about dying on me." 

After several days in a coma, Amy eventually woke up and was on her way to a complete recovery. Rather than have her moved from foster home to foster home every few months, Steve had offered to take her in until they found a permanent place. What Amy didn't know was that Steve was trying to officially adopt her. No wonder Amy had been so hurt when he had said what he said. Steve was about to turn away from the grave site when he heard a soft voice. The voice couldn't have been louder than a whisper, but he was vaguely sure he had heard it. He looked down and sighed. A single tear rolled down his cheek and he brushed it away. No more tears. He had cried enough in the past few days. He knelt down next to her grave, one hand supporting him on the cool granite of her gravestone. He pulled the small red bow out from his pocket and set it near her name. He then whispered, "Good-bye." 

May 29th Amanda looked down at the gravestone sadly. AMY KATHERINE PORTER, it read. She knelt down beside it. "Hey Amy," she said tentatively. She knew that Amy couldn't hear her, but she needed to say something. "We all miss you. Jesse, Mark, me... we miss you a lot." She took a deep breath and forced back the tears that were threatening to fall. "And Steve... well, Steve misses you the most. But you already know that. He's hurting a lot. On the inside. You know how he keeps all his feelings bottled up, though." Another breath. "I went over to his house the other day and... I had never seen Steve cry before. He just... broke down." A tear fell, but she brushed it away hurriedly. "I thought you'd want to know, even though you probably can't hear me, that you've got four people down here that cared about you. Well, at least I hope you're above us." She smiled sadly. "And we still do. Care about you, that is. And say hi to Mark's wife, Katherine, for me. You can't miss her." And then, in a whisper, "Good-bye, Amy." 

She opened her eyes and looked around. Her vision was blurry, but she could make out several boxes stacked atop one another. A single light bulb hanging in the center of the closet-like room was the only source of light she had. After a few moments, her vision cleared, for the most part, and she realized that not only was she bound to a chair and gagged, but her clothes were torn slightly and a little burnt on the edges. She frantically tried to release herself from her bonds, but to no avail. She cursed as the rough texture of the rope cut into her wrists and ankles. The door opened and a shadow fell over her. 

May 30th 

Steve glanced over at his digital clock. 2:37 AM, it read. He had barely gotten any sleep and was sure he'd be in great shape the next day. Morning, he corrected himself. The five hours he had left to get sleep was quickly becoming less. He rolled onto his side and brought the covers up to his neck. A chill went up his spine. He remembered the old story he heard when he was a kid. Whenever a chill went up your spine, someone was walking over your future grave site. He forced himself to close his eyes and count backwards from one hundred. 100... 99... 98... 97... He could hear his father cough from downstairs and a dog bark somewhere down the beach. 96... 95... 94... 93... The phone rang and... wait! The phone rang? Steve sat up and picked up the phone on its second ring. "Sloan," he answered groggily. "Steve? Is that you? You have to help me. I don't know where I'm at and--" Steve recognized the voice as Amy's. But it couldn't be. Amy was dead. Wasn't she? "Amy? Oh God, is that you?" "Yes! Yes, of course it's me. Listen, Steve, you have to get me out of here!" The panic was apparent in her voice. "Amy, where are you? I'll be right there," he replied, turning on the light. He was now fully awake. "Steve, I don't know! A store room of some kind. The man left his cell phone in here when I was tied up and he didn't think I could get to it, but I did and--" Her words were cut off as another person seemed to have taken the phone from her. "Sloan?" the person growled. "Amy?" Steve said frantically. "Wrong, Sloan," the voice replied, chuckling. He heard Amy cry out and then all was silent. "Who is this?" he demanded angrily. "That's for me to know and you to find out," the deep voice responded, obviously amused. "I swear to God, if you hurt her, I'll kill you," Steve threatened. His eyes traveled to the gun on the night stand. "Just one problem, Sloan. You don't know where I am and you don't know where your precious little Amy is and when and if you and your genius father find us, it'll be too late." Steve ignored the run-on and seethed in fury. "If you even-" "Stop threatening me, Officer Sloan. Oh, yes. It's Detective Sloan, now isn't it?" The anger was apparent in the man's voice. Well, Steve guessed it was a man, given the voice. "They promote the man who put me in jail for three years!" Steve thought of what his father would do in the situation. "Look, if you'll just calm down..." "NO! I WON'T CALM DOWN!" the man blew up. "I'LL NEVER FORGET WHAT YOU DID TO ME!" The line went dead. "Hello? Hello?" Steve stared down at the receiver. 

"Dad, it was not a dream!" Steve insisted. He, along with Jesse, Amanda and his father, were sitting on the porch that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. He had called them all to the house and told them about the early morning phone call. "Steve, you've been under a lot of stress lately and..." Amanda started. "Why don't you believe me? You said it yourself, Amanda. You wouldn't have been able to tell who the body was without the tooth remains." "And they came back positive. You're in denial. You have to deal with the fact that Amy is... gone." Amanda set a hand on his shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. "Amanda, what if the records got switched or something?" "I doubt that," Mark pointed out. "Gerald and I have been friends for a long time and he wouldn't make a mistake like that." "Gerald?" they all said at once. "Dr. Bishop. Amy's dentist," he clarified. "He's always been accurate. I left him a message to be extra careful with this case." "What if he didn't get the message? Then he wouldn't have known because Amy kept the last name of Porter and he wouldn't have made the connection. What if he had an assistant do it late one night who wouldn't put effort into it?" Steve put in. "Steve..." There was a definite note of warning in the doctor's voice. "Look, all I know is that I got a phone call early this morning and I am sure it was Amy!" Silence hung like cloud over the group. Steve stood up and stalked into the house. Jesse, who had been silent up until now, asked, "What if Steve's right?" "Jesse-" Amanda started. "Just hear me out here," Jesse continued. "Okay, someone wants to get Steve back for putting him away for three years. At least, that's what Steve thinks. So anyway, he follows Steve around and figures out that Amy's baby-sitting. He plant the bomb in Steve's date's house and waits for it to go off." "But that doesn't make sense, Jesse. Whose body did we find then?" "Maybe he found someone who looked a little like Amy and then killed her and put her near the blast and..." "But how could he be sure that Amy didn't die in the blast?" "I don't know! But maybe Steve did get that phone call and Amy's all right and..." He lowered his voice. "And everything can be the way it used to be." Another silence filled the air. "Maybe Jesse's right," Mark agreed softly. He looked at Amanda, waiting for a reaction. "Maybe, but there's only one way to find out." A slow grin crept across her face. 

"No, Steve doesn't know about this," Mark said to Chief Masters. "But he knows what he heard and... well, you know I'd never ask you to bend the rules... but could you see if there's anyone who's gotten out of jail in the last month or so that Steve put away? And they had to have been in jail for three years." Mark crossed his fingers behind his back. Chief Masters studied his face. "All right, Sloan. Just try not to get Steve's hopes too high. There is the chance that it was a hoax." Masters sat down at the computer and pressed a few keys. Another screen came up and he repeated the process. His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Well, Sloan, you're right. Actually, there's three people that fit the qualifications." The printer made a few noises and information on each suspect printed out. Mark picked it up and scanned the names. "I recognize this one," Mark said, pointing to the photo of Sean Pryl. He was a tall man, with blond hair and blue eyes. He didn't look like the criminal type, more like the boy-next-door type. Then again, Mark reminded himself, you can't tell if someone is a criminal by what they look like. "Pryl? Yeah. Never figured out why they put him away. Not so much as a driving citation. He was just let off because of new DNA evidence. He didn't do it, but, unfortunately, the jury didn't see it that way." "He was a patient of mine about a week ago. I remember him because he came in with a severe fracture to the right tibia. The bone was sticking out of his leg." Masters made a disgusted look and glanced down at the lunch on his desk. He picked the brown paper bag off the desk and threw it in the trash can. "You were going to eat?" Mark chuckled. It was a well known fact that no one had ever seen the Chief eat. "Were. Operative word." Masters smiled, amused by the doctor's facial expression. Disappointment? "Anyway, I remember him. Winced a lot, but didn't complain. And he had his wife with him. I think he fell off the roof or something." "Wife?" Masters raised an eyebrow. "Pryl never mentioned a wife. Then again, we never really talked." "They were newlyweds. I think her name was Josephine. Anyway, I just wanted to stop by for these," Mark waved the papers. "Thanks." "Any time, Doctor." "All right." Steve, Mark, Amanda and Jesse were gathered in Mark's living room. On the table was the three sheets of paper with information on the three suspects. "We have Sean Pryl." "You can question him, Mark," Jesse said. "You can make up something about checking up on his leg." "That's what I had in mind, Jess," Mark replied. "You can check out Joseph Rizzo. He's the owner of the Rizzo Auto Shop on PCH. You know what I'm talking about, right?" The young doctor nodded. "And Amanda, all that's left is Nick Coleman. He works at a bagger at that Sav-A-Lot store down the street from the Rizzo's place." "What am I supposed to tell him?" "Say you're a reporter," Jesse suggested. Steve remained silent, waiting for his assignment. "Steve, you wait by the phone in case Amy or her kidnapper try and call again," Mark said, standing. "But, Dad-" "No, Steve. What'll happen if Amy gets another chance at the phone and there's no one here to answer it? We all meet back here in two hours." Steve didn't protest any further, knowing his father was right. Mark rang the doorbell of the Pryl residence. A petite, yet good-looking woman in her early thirties answered the door. "Dr. Sloan?" she said, recognition gracing her face. "It's so nice to see you again. Making a house call?" Mark chuckled. "Actually, I did come to check up on Sean. Is he here?" "He can't go very far," Mrs. Pryl smiled. "Please come in, Dr. Sloan," she added, stepping aside. "Call me Mark," he insisted. "Then you can call me Joey," she smiled again. "Honey, Dr. Sloan is here to check up on your cast. Could you come in here?" she called. Sean Pryl wheeled out of the kitchen. Then it hit Mark. He couldn't have done it. Not alone, anyway. "What a surprise," Sean grinned. "Can I help you with something?" "Actually, Sean, I came to see if you were experiencing any pain in your leg at all." Sean shook his head. "None. The meds you prescribed worked really well." "All right. I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by," Mark smiled charismatically. "Anything else?" Sean asked. "Yes, one last thing, now that you mention it. What were you doing on May twenty-sixth?" Sean narrowed his eyebrows. "I don't really remember," he responded. "Probably worked on the computer all day." Mark noticed that he had flinched a little. "And you've been remembering to take your medicine with every meal?" "Yes, Mark. He doesn't like the way it tastes, so I just put it in his food," Sean's wife interrupted. "That's all. Don't forget to get your prescription renewed when the first one runs out," Mark said, heading for the door. Joey held it open for him and let him out. "If there's anything you need..." Mark began. "We'll let you know," Joey finished. "Thank you for stopping by, Dr. S- Mark." "One last thing. Were you here on the evening of the twenty-sixth?" "No. I was at the hospital. I work at Greenlawn as an R.N. Why?" "Well, the medicine taken with dinner is the most important and you know how awful that medicine tastes," Mark lied. Well, it wasn't exactly a lie; it just wasn't the truth. "He did take it. I remember he called me from his cell phone and told me." "Cell phone? Why didn't he just use the regular phone since he was here?" "I thought that was strange. He said it was because we were having phone trouble. I didn't notice any when I got home, though. Is that all?" "Yes. Thank you." Mark walked back to his car and got in. Maybe he didn't use the regular phone because he wasn't here. Maybe he was with his accomplices, Mark thought. He started the engine and headed towards the beach house. 

"Is Mr. Rizzo in?" Jesse asked the receptionist. She looked up at him from her magazine, annoyed. She blew a huge bubble with her gun and popped it. "You got an appointment?" she asked. "No, I would just like him to take a look at my car. I've been having problems with..." "Just drive your car into the garage and he'll be with you in a minute." The woman looked back down at her magazine and put on a pair of headphones. Later, Jesse stood over Rizzo as the mechanic worked on the car. "So, um, Mr. Rizzo..." "Just call me Joe." "Um, all right... Joe. Um..." Jesse tried to think of something that Mark would say in this situation. "Er, that's a nice tattoo," he said, gesturing to the cobra on his arm. Rizzo gave him an odd look. "I got it in prison," he said, not looking him in the eye. "Oh, you were in prison?" "Yeah. All I did was hit someone with my car and leave. I mean, no big deal, right? The kid was already dead." "Kid?" Jesse choked out. "Sixteen, seventeen maybe," Joe shrugged. "Gang member. I probably did the city a favor and Sloan locked me up for three years for it." "Sloan? As in Detective Steve Sloan?" "Yeah, how do you know him? Listen, my parole officer didn't send you out after me, did he? Little..." Rizzo held up the wrench and began to tap it against his palm. "No, uh, he locked me up, too." Rizzo let out a laugh. "For what, stealing candy?" "No..." Jesse tried to think up a lie. "Um, jewelry." "From where?" Rizzo asked, no longer interested in the car. "Just a few houses along the beach. He was in his when I broke into it." Great, now he knows that Steve lives on the beach. Nice move, Travis, he thought. "You, uh, still into that stuff?" the mechanic asked. "Nah. But I really want to get some good revenge on Stev-, er, Sloan. Have you ever thought about it?" Jesse asked coyly. "You kidding? That's all I thought about the past three years." "So, you think you're gonna do it?" "I don't think so. But if I did, I'd go straight for him, you know. Maybe cut his brake lines or something. Hey, wait. You ain't a cop, are you?" "No. I, uh, own a bar in downtown L.A. Never liked guns anyway." "I do," Rizzo grinned. Jesse swallowed. "Um, so when will my car be ready?" "Come back tomorrow and I'll let you know, all right... Um, what's your name again?" "Oh, I'm sorry. Uh, Briggs. Norman Briggs." Norman to the rescue even when he isn't here, Jesse thought. "Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow." Rizzo grunted in response and Jesse headed back to the beach house. 

"Mr. Coleman?" Amanda stepped up beside the tall, lanky grocery bagger. "Could I have a moment of your time? I'm a reporter for the L.A. Star and I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time." "Sure." The man turned around. "Clyde, get over here and cover for me. I'm going on break." "Okay," the other man, obviously Clyde, replied, coming over to take his place. Coleman led Amanda into the Personnel Only room. "Now what did you say your name was?" Coleman asked, sitting down at one of the tables. He motioned for Amanda to do the same. "Amanda. Amanda Stone," she lied. She didn't want to give out her real name, just in case. She then remembered if this was the guy they were looking for, then he'd already know everything about Steve, including who his friends were. "So what are you doing your story on, Ms. Stone?" Coleman asked. "I'm doing it on a police detective I believe you are familiar with," Amanda responded. "Detective Steve Sloan." She saw Coleman flinch a little. "Yes, I know him." "I understand you were arrested and sentenced to three years in prison by him." "Yeah, but I deserved every moment. I was a petty thief, robbing houses, hot wiring ATMs. Nothing big, though." "Do you still have ill feelings for Detective Sloan?" "Sloan? No. I got over it a long time ago. I was pretty angry at him, but I got over it." "All right. Sorry about bothering you, but I must be going now." Amanda stood up and shouldered her purse. "It's all right," Coleman said, waving away her apology. "Come back if you need any other information." Coleman went back to his post and Clyde went back to his register. Unnoticed, Amanda slipped back into the Personnel Only room. In the corner, she saw a copy machine and on a rack near that, time cards. Amanda walked over quietly, even though there was no one else in the room. She searched the names before her eyes came to rest on Coleman, Nick. Amanda glanced behind her and slipped it out of the slot. She quickly slid it into the photocopy machine and made copies of both the front and back. Without getting caught, she left with the two copies. She opened the door of her car and almost hit it against the motorcycle next to it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the license plate. 

NC ROCKS 

Back at the beach house, Steve sat down near the phone. No one had called and he was beginning to become discouraged. Just then, the trio of doctors all came in at once. "I'm telling you, Amanda. Rizzo did it. He was talking about revenge like he was planning on it," Jesse insisted. "No way," Amanda argued. "It had to be Nick Coleman for the simple and obvious fact that he said he didn't want revenge on Steve. He was trying to throw us off the trail," Amanda argued. "And his time card says he was out at the time of the bombing." "But twenty minutes isn't enough time for him to drive his car over to the Walsh house, do everything, and get back without being missed." "Children!" Mark's tone was that of an experienced father. The two fell silent and sat down on each side of Steve. "Did you rule anyone out?" Steve asked hopefully. All three shook their heads. "All right. Let's get all the facts here. Coleman could have done it because, number one... Well, is there physically any way Coleman could have done it?" "Not unless..." Amanda trailed off. She sighed in defeat. "No." Jesse looked smug. "As I said, Rizzo is responsible for everything," Jesse announced triumphantly. "He was really into getting revenge on Steve. You should have heard him. He practically asked me if I wanted to be in on it with him." "I'm not going to rule out Pryl, either. I mean, he can't really get around with his cast, but he could have had accomplices. Also, his wife said that he had called her from his cell phone. Maybe he was setting up his own alibi while he made sure his accomplices got the job done. He said he used the cell phone because of phone difficulty, but Mrs. Pryl said she didn't know anything was wrong with the phone." "The motorcycle!" Amanda shouted, standing up. The other three occupants of the room looked at her in surprise. "Coleman could have gotten there and back in time by cutting through traffic on a motorcycle! There was a motorcycle in the parking lot of the Sav-A-Lot store and it had his initials on it." "That is a possibility, but not probable. You said that he didn't have any ill feelings towards Steve," Mark said. "But maybe that was all to throw us off," Amanda suggested. "You know, Amanda's right. We should definitely take extra caution around Coleman. But there's one last thing I want to clear up about those tooth remains..." "Like why they checked out to be Amy's?" Steve offered. "I haven't seen Gerald in a while," Mark smiled. "I think it's been much too long since our last visit." "Sloan's getting too close," he said nervously, pacing in front of the tied up girl. She was trying to get out of the ropes by twisting and kicking. But that only made the ropes dig deeper into her already raw skin. "He knows that you're alive and he won't quit until he finds you." An evil grin spread across his face. "I know how I can make him suffer even more. You wait here." With that, he left the closet-like room. "I thought I'd go for a walk," the girl grumbled after the man had left. The man came back with a knife, sheet of paper and pen. He dropped the things used for writing on the ground and started at her with the knife. The girl closed her eyes as he stepped behind her. She let out a whoosh of air as the knife cut through the ropes. She made a mad dash for the door, but was quickly stopped. "Not so fast," he grinned. "You aren't going anywhere just yet. You're going to write a good-bye note to Sloan and then I'm going to kill you." "And if I don't?" she said cockily. She had nothing to lose; she was going to die in any case. "If you don't cooperate, I'll make it slow and painful," he threatened, tapping the knife against his palm. She began to write. 

"Mark! What a pleasant surprise." Dr. Gerald Bishop, a gray-haired man in his early sixties stood up from behind his desk and greeted Mark with a warm handshake. They both sat down. "I heard about your granddaughter. I'm very sorry." "It's all right," Mark said, not bothering to explain that Amy wasn't his granddaughter biologically, but in every other way. "I came about the verification about her tooth remains. Did you handle them yourself?" "No. Actually, I just returned from a conference in the Caribbean." Mark whistled. "I hear it's nice this time of year." "Mark, it's nice every time of year." Gerald began to chuckle as Mark's beeper went off. He glanced down at the number. "Gerald, I'm sorry, but-" Mark began to apologize. Gerald waved the apology away. "That's all right, Mark. It's probably an emergency at the hospital. Stop by more often. It's a shame what it takes to get you to visit me." The men shook hands again and Mark walked out of the office and into the lobby. "May I use the phone?" Mark asked the secretary. "Of course, Dr. Sloan," she smiled, going back to her paperwork. Mark dialed the number that had appeared on his pager, his son's number. "Dad?" Mark recognized his son's voice as soon as he picked up. "You paged me?" "Yeah. Did you find anything out?" Mark turned away from the secretary's desk and said in a whisper, "Steve, I'm on my way home. I'll tell you everything when I get there." "Sorry, Dad. I'm just... you know." Mark turned back towards the secretary. "I understand. I'll be there as soon as I can," he said loudly. He hung up the phone when a thought occurred to him. "Excuse me," he said to the secretary. "Can I help you?" "Yes, I was wondering what the name of Dr. Bishop's assistant is." "He has two, but poor Natalie has been out with a bad case of the flu for the past two weeks. His other assistant is Lucinda Coleman." "I see," Mark grinned slyly. "Is she married to a Nicholas Coleman?" She shook her head. "Nicky? No, that's her brother." "Thank you." Mark left the dentist's office to share the news with his friends. 

"So Coleman was behind it all along?" Steve asked. Amanda looked triumphant and Jesse looked defeated. Mark just nodded. "Amanda was right. His feigning not being angry with you was a set-up. He knew Amanda wasn't a reporter, so he told her exactly what she didn't want to hear." "We're going over there now," Steve said rising. Mark grabbed his arm. "Steve, maybe we should wait." "No, Dad. Every minute we sit here contemplating how it was done is another minute Coleman walks free," Steve insisted, freeing himself from his father's grasp. "I'll call back-up in on the way." Jesse hurried out behind him. "Can I run the siren?" he asked. "No, you and Amanda stay here just in case. Dad and I are going." 

"Are you done yet?" Coleman asked impatiently. "I'm finished," Amy replied, standing up. She rubbed her wrist where it was red. She looked over her note one last time. 

Steve- 

Sitting in this closet of a room, I'm being forced to write a goodbye letter to you. Believe me, I don't want to. I don't want to cause any more pain than I already have. You were always there for me, even if I didn't reciprocate the same way. When I fell off your bike (the one I wasn't supposed to be riding in the first place), you were the one who put bandages on my skinned knees. When I didn't make the basketball team, you were there to help me on my jump shot and I made the traveling team. When I didn't have a father to talk to, you were there. As far as I care, Richard Porter just donated half my genetic makeup. You're my dad. 

Now I fear I may never be able to see you again. I don't know what's going to happen to me, but you have to promise to go on. Don't go and do something stupid like take your life. Believe me, it's much too precious. Say goodbye to Amanda, Jesse and Mark for me. I hope you find someone that is not an insane homicidal murderer to marry someday. Remember me. I love you, Steve. -Amy She handed the note to Coleman who skimmed it quickly and sneered in disgust. He probably doesn't even know what half the words mean, she thought. He grabbed her roughly by the arm and he led her out of the room. She then realized where she was. She was in a grocery store, now closed. There goes my chance of yelling to attract attention, she thought. Coleman led Amy into another room where there was a heavy metal door. Meat locker. Bad. "Here's your new home," he said meanly, throwing her in, along with the note. She didn't notice it. Before she could escape, he slammed the door and locked it. "Let me out!" she demanded, banging on the door. "When the store opens tomorrow, they'll find me here!" Coleman peeked in through the small window. "Tomorrow is Memorial Day. They aren't going to find you for two days. By then, you'll be dead." He began to laugh and pulled out the switchblade. "Now, I'm off to make Sloan physically suffer." "DON'T YOU DARE HURT STEVE!" she screamed, surprising Coleman. "DO YOU HEAR ME? DON'T GO NEAR HIM!" Coleman almost took her seriously, but then realized her position. Through gritted teeth, she hissed, "You have your revenge. Now leave him alone." Coleman began to leave and left for the front of the store. He saw Steve's car pull up in the lot. Too late. He stepped outside innocently as he and his father leapt out of the car. "Steve? Wow, what a surprise." Coleman pretended to be surprised, but Mark could see he was nervous. "Where is she?" Steve demanded, pulling out his gun. "If you don't tell me, I'll shoot you where you stand." "Who?" he asked innocently. "Amy and you know it," Mark said evenly. "You made the mistake of leaving your motorcycle out where Amanda could see it. You knew we couldn't have pinned it on you if you had taken a car. The time to get there wouldn't fit in your break time. But using a motorcycle would." Coleman glanced nervously back and forth between the two. He took off. "Stop right there!" Steve put his gun back in his holster and followed him. He cut through an alley and finally caught up with him. Steve pinned Coleman to the ground and cuffed him. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Steve said, pulling him up. "It's your choice." 

"It's been almost two hours, Dad," Steve said, leaving the interrogation room. Mark stood up and patted his son on the back. "Steve, at least we know that Coleman can't do anything to her now. It'll just be a matter of time before she finds her way out." "He said he'd only talk to you," Steve said, changing the subject. Mark stepped into the interrogation room. "You wanted to see me?" Mark said coldly, sitting across from his son's tormentor. "Yes, I want to tell you how I did it," Coleman grinned. Mark stood up in disgust and began to leave. "If you stay, I'll tell you where she's at." The doctor sighed in defeat and sat down again. A long story of elaborate planning and twisted pasts unraveled. Coleman told Mark how he had stolen a cadaver from a medical clinic and planted her body in the house. He told of how he'd "rescued" her at the last minute, only to keep her locked up against her will. "Where is she?" Mark asked impatiently. "I'm sure that where ever she's at, she thinks it's cool," he stated, putting extra emphasis on the last word. "You have less than an hour." "To find her?" Coleman nodded. "Did you plant a bomb near her?" "No, I'm much more creative than that." Mark probed further, but got no more information. He stepped out of the interrogation room to see his son sitting in the chair. He stood up eagerly. "Did you find anything out?" he asked. "He strung me along a little. He said Amy had less than an hour to live and that she'd think that where ever she's at was cool." "Maybe it's one of her haunts. She liked to hang out at... Dad?" Steve looked at his father as a look of wonderment came over the older doctor's face. "Dad, what is it? Do you know where she's at?" "I don't think Coleman meant 'cool' as in she liked the place. I think he was talking about temperature." "Dad, this is L.A. in late May. It's warm everywhere." "Except freezers," Mark grinned, beginning to leave. "The meat locker at the grocery store," Steve said, beginning to understand. "I'll call the owner and tell him to meet us there." 

Steve and Mark pulled up at the same time a beat up '84 Oldsmobile did. It was dark out by time they got there. Steve flashed his badge when a man stepped out of the car. "Are you the owner?" Mark asked. "Yeah, you said something about someone being trapped in my store?" he replied, unlocking the front door. "Yes, just wait here a moment. We aren't exactly sure," Steve responded, running in. "Not sure? You woke me up and you aren't sure?" But it was too late, Mark and Steve were already in there. The younger man raced to the back, throwing the half door that guarded the back open. He spotted a large metal door and ran to it. His heart pounding in his chest, he looked in the window. "She's in here," Steve announced, seeing Amy's still form sitting up against a wall of the freezer. "Get the keys." Mark raced to the front of the store and took the keys out of the owner's hand. "Here, Steve," Mark said breathlessly. Quickly, Steve unlocked the freezer and rushed to Amy's side. His fingers automatically felt for a pulse. Slow and weak, but a pulse nonetheless. He quickly shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her. Careful not to move her too much in case of spinal cord or head injuries, Steve dragged her out of the freezer and into the warm air of the main store. "Come on, Amy," Steve mumbled. "I went to your funeral once and I'm not going again." He pulled her up to a surprised Mark. "Is she still..." Steve nodded quickly in response to his father's potential question as he checked for breathing. Shallow, but there. The memory of when she was shot raced back to him again. He winced mentally at the pain it brought back but was brought back to the situation. By now, the owner came to the back of the store to see what all the fuss was about. "Call 911! NOW!" Steve demanded. The man nodded, a mixture of terror and surprise on his face, and took off. Steve checked Amy's breathing and found it absent. Then he realized her pulse was missing as well. "Dad, she stopped breathing," he said, looking up at his father. "Start CPR," Mark demanded, as if he was in ER. Mark knelt near Amy's head and tilted it back to check the airway. Steve scooted down and began chest compressions. They engaged in CPR for about two minutes with no results when the sound of ambulances came from the parking lot. Moments later, two paramedics raced up, carrying a oxygen mask and a heart monitor. They hooked both up. I just got her back. I'm not going to lose her again, Steve thought. I can't. "Clear?" the female paramedic asked. "Clear," the other responded. She pressed the paddles against Amy's chest and Amy gave a little jump. The line on the heart rate machine showed a blip and then went back to flat. "Again. Clear." She shocked Amy for a second time. Nothing. "I'm sorry, sir." She looked up at Steve with dull brown eyes. "No..." Steve breathed. The male paramedic took the oxygen mask off her face and moved to remove the heart rate machine. No, Steve thought. We were so close. Amy, don't you even think about dying on me. He remembered his exact words from the day of her shooting as her death became all too real. He closed his eyes tightly and reopened them slowly. Suddenly, a jagged line played across the screen. Amy moved slightly to one side. Then, the male paramedic grinned. "We got a rhythm." The two loaded her on a stretcher and took her to Community General. As the two paramedics walked away, he could have sworn he saw Amy's hand reach for his. 

June 4th 

Steve poked his head in the white hospital room. Amy was curled up in a ball at the top of the bed. She was asleep and had at least three blankets covering her. He sat down in the chair by the bed and watched her sleep. "Steve?" Amy murmured as her eyelids fluttered open. "I'm right here," Steve smiled down at her. Amy opened her eyes and tried to ignore the pain in her chest. The pain tore through her entire chest cavity with each move she made. But even more, she tried to hide her discomfort from Steve. "What happened?" she asked. "Well, a bomb went off at Eve's house when you were baby-sitting. A cadaver from a medical clinic had been stolen and planted near the house, so she would be disfigured in the blast. We thought it was you, but had the tooth remains checked anyway. They checked out, but it ended up being the assistant who switched the records. She's the sister of the person who set this whole thing up, Nick Coleman. Right now, he's in prison awaiting trial. But before my father figured this all out, we, meaning Amanda, Jesse, my dad and I, attended your funeral and your friend, Alex, dropped this off at the house, saying you thought I should have it." He handed her notebook to her and continued. "Anyway, I aged twenty years in the past week and at thirtyblmvph, that isn't a good thing." "Thirtyblmvph? New number to me." Steve smiled. Typical Amy, trying to lighten the situation with humor. "But anyway, you were locked in a meat locker and left for dead until Coleman gave us enough clues to find you. You've been in and out of consciousness for a few days now." He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. "But I got away with a few bumps and bruises, right?" Jesse walked in, holding Amy's patient chart. "...and a concussion, three bruised ribs, one broken rib and mild hypothermia," the doctor finished, looking up from the chart. "And Amy, I wouldn't advise curling up like that. You'll do more damage that way." Amy winced as she stretched out nearly three-fourths length of the bed. She brought a hand to her side and forced back tears of pain. Steve looked down at her in sympathy. He knew she was in pain, but he had no idea how much. He realized that she had been trying to keep her discomfort from him. "Amy, why don't you get some rest?" Jesse offered. "Since Mark and Steve brought you in, we- we've come so close to losing you." His voice began to break as Amy looked up at him with sad eyes. "You coded on us four times, Amy." "Sorry... I... promise... I... won't... do it... again... Stay... with me... until I... fall asleep... Steve..." she requested, closing her eyes. Her pale hand, IV imbedded in the back of her hand, slid out from underneath the covers. Steve took it and held it. He laughed silently to himself when he realized that Amy's entire fist fit in the palm of his hand. He squeezed her hand reassuringly. "I'll stay," he promised. Soon, her breathing became deep and even and Steve knew she had fallen asleep. He slowly stood up and kissed her lightly on the forehead. With that, he and Jesse left the room. 

"Mark, I am so glad this whole thing is over," Amanda sighed, sitting down in the chair at her desk. "That goes double for me," Mark agreed. He sat next to Jesse on the autopsy table. "Ditto," Jesse smiled, taking a deep breath. "She was this close," he said, spreading his index finger and thumb about a centimeter apart to better illustrate. "If you and Steve hadn't found her when you did, then we'd have a serious case of hypothermia on our hands. She might not have made it." "Speaking of Steve, where'd he go?" Amanda asked. "He was paged on the way here and had to go take care of something at the station," Jesse answered. "And he wasn't too happy about it." "No, I don't suppose it would be," Mark said. "If anything like that had ever happened to Steve or Carol... I don't know what I'd do." 

June 16th 

Steve stared silently out of the window. He watched the rain fall onto the sand, creating small splashes of sand to fly in the air. He looked back at the sleeping figure on his couch through the kitchen doorway. Amy had come home the day before and had slept away most of the time. She was curled up at the top, but since her ribs had healed for the most part, they no longer bothered her. He had watched her sleep the entire night before and a good part of the morning. He wasn't feeling drowsy, although he knew he should be. Mark came down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Hey, son," he said quietly, so as not to wake Amy. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked, seeing the circles around Steve's eyes. Steve shook his head. "I couldn't. I watched her sleep all night. I thought that if... that if I took my eyes off her for an instant... that she'd be gone again." Steve looked up at his father with pain in his eyes that told him he wasn't willing to go through that again, but also with the knowledge that none of the five were willing to go through that again. "Dad, I almost lost her..." "Steve, it's over," Mark said softly. "It's finally over." "Dad, you weren't there during the trial. They read the letter she wrote me. She was scared she was going to die and I couldn't do anything to help her. If I hadn't made her baby-sit... If I had just canceled my date with Eve..." "It's too late for 'ifs.' What's important is that Amy is safe. It isn't your fault." Steve opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. Instead, he looked up at his father and smiled. It had been a long time since he had seen his son smile. Much too long. Amy began to stir. "Steve?" she whispered weakly. "I'm coming," he said. The two Sloans walked into the living room. "Just wanted to make sure you're still here," she sighed, closing her eyes again. "I'll always be here." 


End file.
